


a love like broken glass

by sadlmfao



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Older Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt Dick Grayson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Wally West, and, at least in this one, he's only in a flashback but still, i'll fight them, seriously WHO let dick grayson be convinced he isnt part of the family, slightly unreliable narrator bc of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29275650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlmfao/pseuds/sadlmfao
Summary: Dick thought that they'd been doing better recently, but a fight between Bruce and him leaves him questioning again.He's just glad he isn't alone this time.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 57
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the fic where Dick slowly realizes the shit Bruce puts him through isn't okay.
> 
> Alsooooo warning to anyone who reads this lol. This is one of my first times writing Bruce, and I just couldn't quite get the voice right ?? I think he wants to do the right thing, but is constantly putting "the mission" or selfish desires over the goodwill of his children. And he's pretty shitty here, soo...
> 
> Anyway, hmu with some constructive criticism or anything, seeing comments makes me SO happy! Thanks for reading!

Dick breathes, slow and steady. _In, and out._ He stares at the huge, ornate doors leading to Bruce’s study and feels his pulse quicken despite his best efforts. _Why am I so nervous? It's just_ Bruce. He tries to think of the man, but all he recalls is a vice grip on his arms and a harsh tone. He swallows, wipes his palms on his jeans. _Just Bruce._

It occurs to Dick that he probably knows he’s out here. He’s not exactly being subtle, standing right outside and shifting his stance every so often. The floorboards are creaking under his feet, and even though he knows it’s stupid- that _he’s_ being stupid- he can’t bring himself to knock. He wonders if Bruce can hear just how loud his heart is hammering in his chest. 

Finally, a voice sounds from inside the office.

“Come in,” Bruce orders, tone clinical like it always is after one of their arguments. His voice pierces the air with a hint of finality, taking away Dick’s opportunity to leave. His _choice_. That seemed to be a very common theme for the man.

Dick steps into the room and immediately feels exposed by his icy gaze. Projecting an air of indifference, he moves seamlessly to lean on one of the desk chairs. Doesn’t meet his eyes. Finds himself too busy looking at every book on the shelves. 

“I… I just came in to say goodbye. I’m going back to Bludhaven.” He tenses when Bruce stands before forcing himself to relax. _Last night was just a fluke,_ he reassures himself. Normally their fights never got that physical. Dick finds his gaze flitting to Bruce’s right hand, where his knuckles are wrapped. The bruise on his face seems to sting a little more in that moment, and he breathes in again, slow and steady. _It’s fine._ _Bruce will apologize, and I’ll leave, and we’ll talk later like nothing ever happened._

“Why are you leaving?” Bruce asks, brows drawn together. Finally, Dick meets his eyes, a spark of resentment flickering in his chest. He wants to say, _‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you fucking_ hit me _yesterday? Over a mission report?’_.

He doesn’t say that. He knows better than to cause even more trouble. 

“Just thought it would be best for now. I have a case back there I want to wrap up-”

“No, you don’t.” Bruce says dismissively. “I keep up on your reports.”

When Dick freezes, caught in the lie, he presses on. 

“Are you leaving because of me?”

_Fuck fuck fuck. Ignore, deny, get out-_

“You go through my reports?” Dick hisses instead, because it’s better than saying yes. Bruce’s frame straightens minutely like it always does when he’s gearing up for a fight, and he immediately shies away. Scrubs at his eyes tiredly with his hands. “Wait, Bruce, I’m not trying to fight with you right now, I just-”

“Really, Dick? Because it seems like that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.” His posture is hard, and when he takes a step forward, it feels like a predator stalking its prey. “I only asked you a question. Is it that hard to just answer me?”

“It’s not. I just don’t think it’s beneficial to answer questions like that when the both of us are still cooling down.” The fingerprints on his wrist throb in pain, and he unintentionally hides it behind him. Bruce stops.

“So you are leaving because of me.”

“It’s not just you-”

“Look, I apologize if you were offended by something I might have said.” Bruce says slowly. The condescending tone grates on him, shreds his skin like a knife. “But that’s no reason to leave Gotham. There are active cases going on here that you’re assisting on, and to leave now would be... immature, to say the least.”

Dick’s head spins with the apology and he tries valiantly to keep up a front. “Immature? Taking some time to cool off would be _immature_?”

Bruce doesn’t even twitch, so he plows on. “I just don’t understand you, Bruce. You apologize, and then you make it sound like I’m the one who _always_ instigates it even when I _didn’t_ and-”

“Well, who is it now? I just apologized and already you’re yelling.”

“I’m not yelling!”

“Dick, use your brain. _I’m_ trying to have a conversation on why you’re leaving, and _you’re_ making it difficult when you do this type of thing. I refuse to communicate with someone who acts like throws tantrums and acts like- like a _child_!" Bruce’s eyes are hard and glinting now, pinning him down, and Dick wasn’t sure how they got to this point but was inwardly hitting himself for letting them get here. “Last night, I made a remark about one of your reports and you… what. Proceed to scream at me, attack me, and make a fool out of yourself in front of your siblings? In front of _Alfred?_ ”

Dick’s face burns in shame even though he’s sure that’s not what happened. “No,” he says shakily, “I didn’t do that. You’re- you’re twisting it.”

“Why would I lie to you? You _know_ that I want the best for you, Dick. I only want to _talk_ to you, but when you attack me we run into difficulties.”

“I didn’t attack you, _you_ hit _me_! I- I can’t believe you.” Dick laughs breathlessly. He’s so _tired._ “You almost broke my wrist, B.”

“I wouldn’t have had to restrain you had you not been so hell bent on hurting me.”

Hurting him. _Hurting him?_ Dick’s mind was spinning now, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. Last night had been rough on all of them after a brawl with Killer Crock. Bruce… Bruce had gotten on him about his shoddy report, and he had fired back…

But he was sure that B had been the one to swing first. It’s why he was so shaken up about it. 

Right?

“I don’t think-”

“It doesn’t matter what you _think_ , what matters is what _happened._ And here’s the facts: _you_ were antagonizing me the entire night, _you_ started a fight, and now _you_ are the one screaming at me for simply trying to make things right.” He sets his jaw and sighs, the sound filled with so much disappointment Dick nearly flinches. “But somehow, I’m the difficult one.”

_Deep breaths. In, out._ “I’m not yelling, I just-”

“You know what, maybe it would be for the best that you go.” Bruce watches the last bit of Dick’s resolve crumble and presses into the wound, digging harder. _He’s too good at that,_ Dick thinks, blinking back tears, _picking words he knows will hurt._ “I don’t want you on one of my cases until I can be sure that you are stable emotionally. With the way you are right now, you would only get someone hurt.”

The words crash down on him and he clenches his jaw. “You are such an asshole.”

The line between the man’s brows deepens. “I’m not going to fight with you, Dick. Get out of my office.”

“No. Fuck you. You did want a fight, you _know_ I didn’t do shit last night-”

“I said _get the hell out!_ ” Bruce screams, slamming a fist on the table. “All you do is cause problems, Dick! If I cannot even hold a simple conversation with you, how am I supposed to work with you?” 

Dick flinches. His hands are trembling now, the tension in the air so palpable he could breathe it in. Bruce stands, towering over him. In that moment, he’s terrifying. 

“ _Get. Out.”_

He stuffs shaking hands in his pockets and leaves.

  
\---  
  
  


Dick doesn’t know why Jason is the first one he calls. To be honest, he doesn’t even know why he calls anyone at all. Bruce and him fight all the time, there’s no reason for him to be dramatic about this particular one. 

It’s just… there’s this buzz in his head. Bruce’s words are flickering in and out of his mind, telling him he’s crazy, reminding him he did this to himself. Dick looks in the mirror and all he sees is the bruise darkening from his temple to his jawline, a black and blue reminder that he should’ve been better. 

Maybe he calls Jason because he knows he can relate. 

Jason had always been at odds with Bruce, ever since he came back. Things were better than they used to be (at least now the two can stand to be in the same room as each other), but they still weren’t anything close to perfect. Relationships could be hard for Bruce, and adding in both their trauma and the stupid fucking _good soldier_ display case had threatened to chase Jason away for good. 

It’s probably for the best then that Dick was used to cleaning up Bruce’s messes. Because after a _year_ of Dick reconciling and trying to fit the family back together, things were good. Sort of. Jason picks up on the third ring, and Dick tries not to sigh in relief as his voice pierces the air.

“Hello, Dick?”

“Yeah, it’s me. How’re you doing Jay?”

There’s a pause on the other end. Instead of replying, he goes, “Tim told me about the fight.”

“I’m… sorry you had to hear about that.” Dick says after a moment. He stares at his wrist cast for a moment before looking away. “Um, I-”

“He told me about what happened earlier too. In B’s office.”

That makes him freeze. “What?”

“Yeah. We... hacked the footage. Shortly after Bruce started yelling.”

Dick grimaces, rubbing his jaw. He opens his mouth, to lecture them on privacy, to tell them it’s not as bad as it sounded, to say something that would probably- somehow- come to Bruce’s defense. It tastes like acid coming up his throat.

“He’s a fucking asshole.” Jason says after the pause had gone on too long. “I hope you know that.”

Dick perks up at that, hope desperate twitching in his chest. He doesn’t want to ask, but a part of him needs to _know._ If he was in the wrong. If he actually was the one acting delusional. “Did- did I-” He cuts himself off before clearing his throat, voice earnest. “When you watched the feed, was I actually being... irrational?” 

“What the fuck?” Jason splutters. His tone darkens in anger, and the shift puts Dick on edge as he braces for the worst. “What the fucking- no, no you weren’t. Jesus, you know Bruce is a manipulative prick, right?”

Relief washes over him in waves, a warm sensation flooding him. It doesn’t fix the doubt in his head, but it takes away some of the questions. 

“And- and you _saw_ Bruce hit me first last night?” He ignores how his voice cracks on the word _hit,_ ignores how the word should never come in the same old package deal as his _father figure_ too. Jason’s answer is immediate.

“Jesus Christ, Dickie.” His voice is rough with emotion, and Dick takes a moment to revel at how far his brother has come. “Yeah. Yeah, we saw that.”

Dick slumps back against the couch in relief, staring listlessly into space as his mind races. “Why did he say it was me?”

“I don’t know Dick. I don’t have all the answers, okay?” Jason’s voice turns into something gentler, and Dick wishes so, so _bad_ he was strong enough to not need it, but right now he lets the comfort seep into his skin. “It wasn’t your fault though. Everything Bruce said was twisted, and believe me when I tell you I’ll be having a talk with him about that-- but. But this isn’t about him right now, it’s about you.”

“What do you mean?” Dick asks, slight confusion muddling his relieved state.

“I mean that you shouldn’t put up with all this bullshit.” Jason says bluntly. Dick holds the phone to his ear, but still doesn’t really hear any of it. His mind wanders back briefly to the first time he ever heard that phrase. 

_“C’mere, bud.” Wally pulls him close to his chest, ignoring his heaving breaths and wet face. “It’s gonna be okay, Dick. We’ll- we’ll have the best birthday ever. Without Bruce, because screw him.”_

_Dick just buries his head into his best friend’s shoulder, trying to hold in another chest-wracking sob. Then Wally starts rubbing up his spine, gentle and calming-_ just the way B used to _\- and another fit of tears stream down his face. He misses him. He misses him so bad._

_Bruce promised to be here. It was his thirteenth birthday, and B promised that they would go get ice cream and Dick could show him the new move he learned on the trapeze, and it was going to be_ perfect _and then-_

_And then Bruce forgot about it altogether. Left that morning for a business trip with a promise to be back in a few days. Dick wishes he could ignore the way his heart broke when he heard about it._

_“I- I’m sorry,” Dick whispers into Wally’s chest, voice cracking. “This is- this is so dumb. I’m being stupid.” His little hands fist up Wally’s shirt, Wally’s_ favorite _shirt, and he’s apologizing but he can’t quite let go. “I’m_ sorry.”

_“Hey, hey. Don’t you dare apologize.” Wally says, pulling him closer because he was good like that. Dick wonders if his parents ever forgot_ his _birthday, then decides probably not. “This is not your fault, Dick, and you don’t deserve to put up with B’s bullshit.”_

_Dick shakes his head, pulling back a little bit. Wally lets him with sad eyes. “It_ is _my fault. He’s always busy, I…” His voice trails off for a moment before he steels himself. “I should’ve reminded him, or something. He would have come if he remembered.”_

_“Dick,” Wally says, very carefully. He’s looking him right in the eyes, so serious for a moment, serious in a way that Dick didn’t know his friend could be. “It’s not your responsibility to remind Bruce of your birthday. It’s_ not. _”_

_Dick looks down. “I was gonna ask him to adopt me today,” he murmurs. “What if he knew, and left on purpose?”_

The admittance had left Wally looking heartbroken, so Dick resigned to never bother him with talk about B again. But… but the question was never resolved in his brain. There was a reason he was the only one out of Bruce’s gaggle of kids to never be adopted. He doesn’t know if he could handle knowing what it is.

“Dickie? Dick, you still there?” 

Jason’s voice startles him through the phone, and he pushes himself up on the couch, grimacing at the pain in his wrist. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I was just… thinking.” He finishes lamely. Jason doesn’t seem to mind.

“Listen, I’m coming over and making dinner tonight, okay? And I know you don’t have shit in your fridge, so no arguing with me.” There’s other noises behind the sound of Jason’s voice: the clinking of cans, opening of the fridge. Dick smiles slightly. Jason’s always the best at taking care of people, no matter what anyone says. 

“That… that sounds great. Thanks, Jay.” 

“Anytime Goldie. I’ll be there in thirty.”

Dick hangs up the phone, feeling better now that he has something to distract himself with. If all goes to plan, B will message him in a few weeks about a mission and it’ll rope him back into the family once more. He just has to hold on, wait it out. 

Maybe if he's lucky his bruises will have faded by then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaalright. so. warning for child abuse throughout (via bruce hitting dick), but also a slight blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to CSA while dick was in juvie. it's super small but it is there, so please don't read if it's a trigger! your mental health is important and so are you. <3
> 
> that being said, please enjoy the chapter and leave a comment or kudos, if you'd like :) thank you all SO MUCH for reading, and have a wonderful day! stay safe!

Jason is… mad, when he comes. It takes Dick by surprise, even though he had heard his angry tone not even an hour earlier. He guesses a part of him kind of thought Jason was kidding, that he’d take a look at the bruise blossoming across Dick’s face and crack one of those offensive jokes he’s so good at. Instead he arrives with groceries in hand and a fire in his eyes that has Dick hopping out of the way as he shoulders into the apartment. 

Dick opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the thump of cans on his counter. Jason turns sharply after depositing them, eyes fixing on him intently. “You ready to make the best fuckin’ stew of your life?”

“Aw,” Dick grins. It makes his cheek ache. “Here I thought you were making it for me.”

Some of the fire dies from Jason’s expression, crumbling into something more amused. Whatever he was looking for in Dick, he must’ve found, because in the next moment he’s snorting good-naturedly and casting a sharp grin over his shoulder. “Not even a beating can get you out of this one, Goldie.”

“If only.” Dick says wryly. Joking with Jason is always nice. He’s old enough that Dick doesn’t feel bad about darker humor, feels fine to just crack jokes about his problems and leave them at that. Hell, if all Jason wanted to do today was make fun of their shitty lives and eat stew, that’d be a pretty damn good day. 

Too bad Jason was a bit more stubborn than that. 

“Speaking of that,” he says, while getting out various ingredients from bags, “You want me to tear B a new one? Because I will. I absolutely will.”

Dick hums and falls into step beside him, taking vegetables and putting them next to the cutting board. He… isn’t sure what he’d like Jason to do. He thinks he probably has to decide what _he_ wants to do first, but he also thinks that he _knows_ what he wants to do and knows even better than to do it. Dick might have been angry after B hit him, might’ve tried to harbor resentment, but he’s never been the kind of person that fuels from it. He’s not _Bruce._ The anger that made him feel fiery and irrational had long since cooled, and in its place there was… something like longing. A longing to make things _right,_ to win back that reluctant approval that came hand in hand with being part of Bruce’s family. Dick could see it in technicolor: he’d apologize for losing his temper, for hitting B first, and Bruce would furrow his brow and half-accept the apology, and in a week or so he'd be welcome back at the Manor like nothing ever happened at all. (And he _absolutely_ wouldn’t still feel like an outsider, like he wasn’t one argument away from being kicked out again, bruised and alone. Because forgive and forget, right?)

Sometimes it's like there's this insatiable need in his head to always make things right between them, and it bubbles to the surface as soon as things calm down. Because he can be _frustrated_ at B, can be _angry_ at how he dismisses him or starts fights- but at the end of the day he still thinks things would be better if he just sucked it up and apologized. Because it would be worth it. To be part of the family again, to be _useful_ again. 

(He still sees the anger in Jason’s eyes, still feels the product of _Bruce’s_ anger on his skin, but. But in the face of feeling at home in the only place he's ever called it, in the face of being able to see Tim and Damian and his sisters on a regular basis- God, he _knows_ it's unhealthy, but- he'd do anything for them.)

And if apologizing for such a minor, run-of-the-mill argument was it? Then that's a very small price to pay.

(Then his mind catches up to his heart and tells him _no no_ _nono_ \- _you shouldn't have to put up with that to be loved, shouldn't have to find out how fists feel on your skin in order to get an ounce of affection later_ -)

“Dick.” Jason waves a knife in front of his face, and his thoughts snap into place with startling clarity. The knife gleams under the gritty lighting of his apartment, and he sniffs and takes it from him. They both pretend not to notice his shaking hands.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you.” Jason says. It’s not a question, or if it is, they both know the answer.

“I'm just... it's a lot, sometimes.” Dick admits, "To try and understand. To try and do the right thing." He tries to line up the knife with the onion he’s cutting, but his hand is shaking too much, and Jason takes it from him easily and sends him off to open cans instead. 

“What’s… confusing you, then?” Jason dices them quickly and Dick watches, mind a million miles away.

“Bruce, I guess. I mean. He _knows_ I love him, even though I- even though we fight a lot. So I don’t understand why he’s always pushing me away.” Dick starts, and it sounds okay to his own ears, so with a glance from Jason he tentatively keeps going.

“And Bruce… he wasn’t always like that, either. He never hurt me when I was a kid, then I got to be a teenager and things changed. But. But I still understand him the most, probably, and I got to know him before he isolated himself so much. I _understand_ him, Jason, and I _love_ him. He’s like my dad, even if he doesn’t want to be. So I don’t understand why that’s not- why it’s not _enough._ ” Dick’s voice breaks embarrassingly as he talks, and Jason pulls him into a hug right in the same moment that tears begin to fall.

“It’s not _enough,_ and it’s never enough, and I- I just want him to-”

_Love me,_ Dick thinks. He won’t say it aloud, because he doesn’t think his heart could take anymore emptying, but the thought is so loud and concise in his mind that he’s sure Jason could hear it anyway. He just wants Bruce to love him. 

(Because he’s seen the way B looks at Tim, the way he sends him off to bed when he works too hard, and how his face lights up when he manages to pull him into a case. And he’s seen how much pride the man sets aside to try to bridge the gap between him and Jason, even going so far as to apologize and tell Jason everything he wants- _needs-_ to hear. He’s seen him pick up a hundred parenting books for Damian, and make efforts to go to his art shows once Dick reminds him and--)

And Dick _sees these things in Bruce,_ sees all these good qualities and how deep his love for his family runs and yet still--

It’s not enough. 

Bruce forgets Dick’s birthday half the time. He over works him on cases and hits him- _sometimes, it’s only sometimes,_ his chest screams- over mission reports. Dick once, when he was a teenager and was trying hard to be better, managed to clear Bruce’s work schedule for an entire day. He planned out the whole thing and even was planning on going to an antique _watch shop_ with the man, only to have Bruce sleep in and then take a 'work call' halfway through the movie they’d been dying to watch together. No one’s perfect, but there are still so many of these little moments lined up in Dick’s mind that he _knows_ B can’t possibly love him like he loves them. He knows. 

Somehow it doesn’t stop him from wanting to try.

“It’s gonna be okay, Goldie.” Jason’s humming soft assurances into his hair, strong arms wrapped around him and rubbing comfortingly. “You don’t fucking deserve that.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and another sob racks his chest.

“You really, really don’t.” Jason murmurs, and he sounds so sure in that moment that Dick wants to believe him. 

“I just want to apologize.” Dick admits softly. His brother's chest is broad and warm, and Jason grips tighter at the admission. “I’m so _tired,_ Jason, and I just.”

“It’s alright. I got you.” 

“I just want him to not _hurt_ me,” Dick sobs. It’s the closest he’ll ever admit to wanting Bruce’s love (the difference between being _loved_ and _not being hurt_ has always been so insignificant), and saying it makes something deep inside him absolutely break in two.

He wants Bruce to love him, but if he could settle for not being hurt, he thinks he might selfishly take that one too. And judging by the tightening grip around him, and the heartbreaking _‘Oh, Dick’_ breathed in his ear, Jason understood. He wishes so dearly that wasn’t the case, but it was, and so Dick hugged just as tight back and hoped that maybe this piece of his heart could help Jason feel more whole too.

They held each other until Dick’s cries tapered off, breaking apart with both of them worn out and misty-eyed. Dick cast a forlorn glance towards the soup before Jason herded him off to the couch with a slight reprimand, until the last thing he remembers is dried tear tracks on his face and Jason’s tender smile from the kitchen. 

\---

Dick wasn’t lying when he said things hadn’t always been bad between him and Bruce. 

When Dick was eight years old, fresh out of juvie with the memory of his parents' broken bodies flashing behind his eyes, Bruce had taken him to the Manor and called it his home. Dick hadn’t believed him at the time, had been too caught up deciding if he was like the rest of the adults who had said they would take care of him then died or put him in a jail cell. So it made sense, really, why he didn’t believe him at all until one night in particular. 

Dick had woken up screaming. Not yelling, not gasping, _screaming._ Visions of his parents falling were overtaking his vision, of him falling with them, of their mauled and bloody bodies crunching and cracking bones to tower over him and tell him it was his fault. They repeated the same things the boys in juvie said to him, did the same things done to him, and the crowd all around them was sobbing and cheering and then shoving him to his knees and-

And Dick woke up _screaming._ Tears were streaming down his face, and he wanted to call out for his _Daj,_ or _Dat,_ but his brain replayed the images from his dream and he whimpered instead. When Bruce burst into the room and turned on the light, he’d flinched so hard another sob tore from his throat, but after a few moments of not being hurt he’d looked up to see the man being violently torn between hugging him and keeping his distance. 

The awkward look on his usually stoic face _had_ made Dick come to the teary conclusion he was constipated, but after a minute of uncomfortable eye contact the man surprised him and took two strides forwards to wrap him in a hug. He was huge, so much bigger than Dick had been, and the feeling of being touched without pain had been so foreign at the time that his tears stopped nearly instantly. 

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce had said, voice deep and rumbling next to his head. “You’re safe now.” 

So Dick had held on tighter and, foolishly, believed him. 

The next day when he went to apologize for waking Bruce up, he’d instead been taken aside and told he had no reason to say sorry. Bruce promised that he would always, _always_ be here for him, especially in the middle of the night after a nightmare. That Dick was safe here for as long as he wanted to stay, and that the Manor would always be his home, should he want it. Dick had beamed up at Bruce, and gotten a small, hesitant smile in return, and they spent the rest of the day playing catch outside together and watching movies. Like everything in the world had been made right, just like that.

Sometimes, when he’s alone and it’s the middle of the night after a particularly bad nightmare, he wonders just where he went wrong. Bruce made so many _promises_ when he was a kid, and nearly none of them he kept. Had Dick just been easier to love, back then?

Or was Bruce lying all along?

\---

When Dick comes to, there’s a warm weight on top of him that he doesn’t recognize. His vigilante senses wake up before he does, and he nearly flings it off of him in panic before he realizes who it is. Scrawny arms wrapped around him, a mop of dark hair. Overall espresso aroma. 

Tim huffs, still half asleep, from on top of him and Dick smiles to himself, pleasantly surprised. He runs his hand through the thick hair gently, content for the small moment of peace before he officially gets up and has to deal with what a shit show his life has been the past few days. It takes a minute before he realizes there are other people in the room too. His _family._

“Why couldn’t you have made waffles? I _asked_ for waffles-”

“You want waffles, then go buy some fuckin’ Eggos, Blondie-”

“But I thought you were, like the chef of the family! Our own Betty Crocker.” Steph’s voice sounds from the kitchen. She’s probably supposed to be whispering, but she’s yelling. (She’s always been the worst at covert operations, due to her refusal to acknowledge inside and outside voices).

“Batty Crocker.” Duke pipes up, sitting on the counter. He has whip cream on the top of his lip, curled into a smile. Steph high fives him for the joke and Jason growls. 

“Don’t be an imbecile. Alfred is _obviously_ the chef of the family.” Damian sniffs. He’s sitting at the table with some toast in hand, purposefully ignorant of how his hungry munching contradicts his previous sentiment. Dick feels his heart fill with warmth as he sleepily listens to their conversation.

“Shut it, munchkin. Did you all seriously come here just to complain about my cooking, because that’s fucking-”

“Language.” Cass says softly. Jason swats at her with the spatula he’s flipping pancakes with before thinking better of it. 

“-Dumb,” Jason finishes. “That’s dumb. And annoying.”

“What are siblings for?” Stephanie says sweetly. Jason grumbles something about needing a vacation before Damian looks over and spots him awake.

“Grayson!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up slightly. He schools his expression instantly, and Dick beckons him over before his heart can break at the sight. As soon as the kid’s in reach, he pulls him into a hug, partly squishing Tim and releasing a squawk of indignation from him.

“Grayson,” Damian grumbles, stiffly. “I advise you to let go.”

“I missed you,” Dick says, because he has. He’s missed all of them, hasn’t been in contact since that night Bruce and him fought in front of everyone. He’s… surprised. That they came. That they still want to be around him. 

“Tt. The Cave _has_ been boring with no competent sparring partners.” Damian says, and it’s the best he’s going to get. Dick presses a kiss to his forehead before letting go, grinning wider at the embarrassed flush on the kid’s face. His face hurts from smiling so much, but it’s worth it. _They’re_ worth it. 

Tim is waking up, slow as ever, pushing himself to his elbows. Dick wraps him up in a hug too, wanting to preserve some of the peace on his little brother’s face before he wakes up and the weight of the world is on his shoulders again. Tim might be the best compartmentalizer, but the amount of responsibilities he has as part-time CEO _and_ vigilante tend to compensate for that. Dick’s glad at least his sleep is restful.

“Dick,” Tim slurs. “You’re… I’m… how did I get here-”

“We kidnapped you.” Steph chirps, mouth full of pancakes. Tim sends her a confused look and she moves on. “Nice to see you, Dick! It’s been a while.”

It _has_ been a while. Steph and Cass were in Hong Kong for a mission, and Duke has been too busy with school to go on patrol, so this is the first time he’s seen them in weeks. He hopes he doesn’t look like too much of a mess.

“It has. Too long.” He grins at her, and she returns the sentiment. 

“You want some pancakes? These hooligans demanded food.” Jason calls out. There’s a plate of pancakes on the counter next to him that’s emptying out just as fast as it’s piling up. Dick watches in amusement as Duke grabs one as soon as Jason sets it down. He turns and smacks him this time, with no restraint. 

“Sounding more like an old man everyday, Jason.” Tim cracks a grin. Jason whips around to defend himself, but then Tim mouths the word _hooligan_ and he narrows his eyes.

“Shut up and eat your breakfast.” Jason mutters, dropping off a plate for them on the couch. He’s wearing an apron, the one Donna got for Dick last Christmas that says _Come put my hot meat in your mouth_ , and the bright pink fabric wrapped around his waist does give him an odd, motherly vibe. Dick grins at Tim and pulls the plate into their lap, thanking Jason as he does so. 

He couldn’t think of a more perfect way to wake up. Around him, Stephanie and Duke are roping Damian into catching whipped cream in his mouth, and Cass is helping Jason with dishes (with some added commentary), and Tim’s beside him filling his stomach with homemade pancakes, and--

And it’s good. It’s really, really good. Dick doesn’t experience a lot of moments like these, and between seven different intricate lives, it can be hard to find down time to spend with each other. He’s happy, and painfully relieved that he still has it in him to smile, and painfully _grateful_ that they’re here right now. He needs them. 

Tim asks what time it is absent-mindedly, and Dick leans over to grab his phone, easily compensating. He turns it on and opens his mouth to read it off when the first notification catches his gaze. 

“What is it?” Tim asks, attention zeroing in on his open-mouthed expression. Dick swallows harshly and sets it face down on the coffee table.

“It’s from Bruce,” he sighs, tentative happiness sucked out of him. “He wants to talk.”


End file.
